Lone Wolfe (20 page)

 
          
‘I
wish it was. That would be easier.’ He rubbed a hand across his face, looking
so tired and lonely and lost that Mollie wanted to put her arms around him and
draw him to her. As if sensing that need in her, Jacob looked up sharply. ‘You
can’t save people, Mollie.
Just like you said.
You
were right.’

 
          
‘I
know you can’t save people, Jacob. I told you that yesterday. I don’t want to
save
you—’

 
          
‘You
do. You might not think you do, but I can see it in your eyes. You think you
can help me. Heal me. But you can’t. And trust
me,
I’m
not worth saving anyway.’

 
          
Mollie
let out a sound that trembled between a laugh and a sob. ‘Yes, you are.’

 
          
He
shook his head. ‘If you knew—but it doesn’t matter.
I
know. And I know there can be no future for us. I’m sorry to have
taken advantage of you last night. I thought I could control myself, but I—I
couldn’t.’ His voice trembled for an instant. ‘I failed. I failed you …’

 
          
Rage
tore through her heart, spilled into her words. ‘Last night was
not
a failure. Last night was a success,
one of the most beautiful things that has ever—’

 
          
‘It
was,’ Jacob agreed quietly. He smiled, sadly, and Mollie felt her heart break.
It was a physical thing, as if her body were being cut in half. She could
hardly breathe for the pain of it, and she understood why they called it a
break. It wasn’t an ache, or
a soreness
, or a twinging
pain; it was too agonising for that.
Too final.
Jacob
crossed the room and reached out to wipe the tear still trickling down her
cheek. ‘It
was
beautiful,’ he said,
and still smiling that achingly sorrowful smile, he turned away. ‘I’ll have my
driver get the car for you,’ he said, and then he was gone.

 
          
MOLLIE
walked through the expo practically on tiptoes, as if she were made of glass.
Bubbles,
and they were popping slowly, one by one, so that
when they were all gone there would be nothing left.

 
          
She
barely took in the sights that only yesterday had fired her imagination.
Everything seemed to hold a memory; she could hardly walk through the hall
without picturing Jacob by her side, listening to her wild ramble of ideas,
offering his little suggestions, smiling faintly.

 
          
How
could it hurt so much, after so little time?

 
          
She
felt only relief when the day came to a close, even though it meant she’d see
Jacob again, which she both desired and dreaded.

 
          
In
fact, she didn’t see him until he lightly touched her shoulder. She’d been
standing in front of the Zen garden exhibit again, recalling his words from
yesterday:
I have no trouble believing
the world possesses imperfections. Or that they exist in
myself
.
But to embrace them …

 
          
She
understood what he meant now. Not only could Jacob not accept the imperfections
in himself, he couldn’t forgive them. Forgive
himself
.

 
          
What
could he not forgive? Mollie wondered helplessly. Was it the night he hit his
father? Surely he knew that was self-defence. Or was there something
else—something she was afraid to know?
Would
it change everything, like Jacob had said?

 
          
‘Did
you have a good day?’ Jacob asked, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder for
only a second, and startled, Mollie turned around.

 
          
A good day?
Was he
joking?
‘Not really,’ she said rather flatly, and Jacob simply nodded in acceptance.

 
          
‘The
car’s outside.’

 
          
No
more red sports car, Mollie soon saw. This was not a joyful jaunt in the
countryside with the top down. Instead Jacob had hired a limo with acres of
space between them and a driver at the wheel.

 
          
She
slid into the leather luxury with a sharp little smile. ‘What happened to the
convertible?’

 
          
He
shrugged. ‘I’m leaving it in the city for a bit. I’m afraid I have to work on
the way back.’ He didn’t sound remotely apologetic as he snapped open his
briefcase and took out a sheaf of papers. Mollie turned to stare out the
window. It was a good thing they hadn’t taken the convertible, she thought
drearily. It had started to rain.

 
          
As
the limo turned off the motorway and Mollie saw the sign for Wolfestone with a
little tremor of dread, she finally summoned the courage to break the silence.

 
          
‘So what now?’

 
          
Jacob
stilled. He looked up, his expression composed, although Mollie saw a flicker
of wariness in his dark eyes. She was good at reading him now, at even
understanding him. Even though she still didn’t understand—or know—enough.

 
          
‘What
now?’ he repeated carefully. ‘I imagine you have a bit more work to complete on
the gardens.’

 
          
‘Another
fortnight and it will be finished. I’ll be finished,’ she emphasised starkly.
Jacob said nothing and she made herself ask, ‘So we just go on for the next two
weeks as if nothing has happened?’

 
          
As if you didn’t come in and shatter my
world?

 
          
‘Perhaps
it would be better if we didn’t see each other,’ Jacob said after a moment.
‘A clean break.’

 
          
Mollie
shook her head slowly. ‘You really have some nerve, you know that?’

 
          
‘I
know you’re hurt, Mollie—’

 
          
‘Do
you?’ She thrust her face towards him, her eyes sparkling with both tears and
rage. ‘Do you
know
that, Jacob?
Empirically?
Intellectually?
What
about with your heart?’

 
          
‘I
told you—’

 
          
‘Oh,
I know.’ Mollie slapped her hand to her forehead. ‘That’s one thing I know,
right?
Because you told me.
But all the things you
won’t
tell me—about the man you
supposedly really are—I’m just supposed to take that on trust.
Right?’
She didn’t wait for him to answer. ‘How very
convenient for you,’ Mollie told him. ‘You can just walk away when it gets too
much because you’re so
sorry
but you
can’t help it. You’ve got all these terrible secrets, but you won’t even tell
me what they are! You know what that makes you, Jacob?’ She glared at him,
trembling with anger and hurt, but Jacob’s expression didn’t even flicker.

 
          
‘What
does it make me?’ he asked quietly.

 
          
‘A
coward,’ Mollie spat. Vindication didn’t feel nearly as good as she wanted it
to. ‘It makes you a coward.’

 
          
Jacob
accepted her scorn without comment. He nodded his acceptance as the limo pulled
up to Wolfe Manor. It was raining heavily now, a steady, drumming downpour. Mollie
stared at him, wanting
something
, but
he didn’t speak. He didn’t even change expression. And with a choked sob, she
wrenched open the car door, grabbing her case from the driver, and headed off
into the rain.

 
          
Jacob
watched the rain and fog swallow Mollie as she stormed away from him,
disappearing through the hedges that were no more than dark shapes in the
sudden storm. He closed his eyes for a second and steeled his soul.

 
          
Calm.
Control.

 
          
Coward
.

 
          
He
deserved her scorn, he knew. He accepted it as his due. How could he accept
anything else, when she had no idea why he’d walk away from the best thing in
his life? No clue as to just what kind of man he was?

 
          
The kind of man who could hit his father in cold, cold blood.
Who raised his hand to his own
sister.
Who walked
away.

 
          
Jacob
slammed out of the limo. He didn’t need thoughts like this. He didn’t need to
lash himself with the whip of regret. He’d felt its unrelenting sting too many
times already. He’d moved forward in his life, and part of that was accepting
what was and was not possible. What he could and could not have.

 
          
He’d
made peace with it long ago, or at least he thought he had.

 
          
Then
he’d returned to Wolfe Manor, to his old life, and all the old ghosts and
memories rose up to taunt him with what he could never have.
Who
he could never be.
And in the middle of it all,
Mollie.
Making him wonder and wish and want in a way he never had
before.

 
          
Striding
into the manor, Jacob shrugged off his suit jacket and dropped his briefcase by
the door. All around him the manor echoed emptily, silently, yet he still heard
the whispers. Felt them.

 
          
His
gaze, as it so often did, travelled to the sweeping staircase, rested at its
foot where his sister had huddled in a helpless, foetal ball while his father
whipped the very life out of her. Standing there, Jacob could almost see
her,
hear his brothers’ desperate cries as they tugged on
their father to stop his brutal abuse.

 
          
Stop it, Dad. Please, stop it …

 
          
And
he felt—as he so often did these days—the answering rage in himself when he’d
seen that pathetic, terrible scene; it was a rage that flowed like fire through
his veins and made his pulse hammer and his fists clench. He felt it, even now,
twenty years later, and it was
an anger
so consuming
it nearly frightened him.

 
          
This
he did not know how to control.

 
          
This
was why he would never let someone like Mollie into his life, someone who could
be hurt, or even destroyed by what he was.

 
          
Someone
he could love.

 
          
Mollie
threw herself into her work with the energy and drive of the obsessed. She woke
as dawn was spreading its pearly fingers across the sky, pulled on her boots
and her work clothes and headed out into the gardens when they were still fresh
with dew. She worked all day, weeding and pruning and planting, only stopping
to drink some water and eat an apple or a quick sandwich. She returned to the
cottage at night, when darkness finally made it impossible to continue, and
fell into bed sweaty and exhausted, yet still with enough energy to think. Remember.
And wish things—
Jacob
—could be
different.

 
          
As
the days passed she told herself that it was better this way, for both her and
Jacob. She asked herself if they could have ever really had a relationship, and
made
herself
answer no.

 
          
The
reasons were obvious and unrelenting. Other than these few short weeks on the
Wolfe estate, they had separate lives. Separate dreams. Separate everything.

 
          
And
Jacob had too many dark secrets, deep regrets. Mollie knew she could never
understand or come to love until she knew those … and Jacob clearly had no
intention of letting that happen.

 
          
And
what did love have to do with it anyway?
she
asked
herself as she headed back to the cottage one afternoon to change into more
decent clothes. She was meeting the tree surgeon at two o’clock and knew she
should look at least somewhat presentable. She hurried upstairs, distracted by
her own racing thoughts.